


she's a femme fatale

by lesbianferrissbueller



Series: also on tumblr! [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, F/F, Fluff, For reference, Genderbending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Rule 63, everyone is genderbent so that includes billie's parents, so she has a shitty mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianferrissbueller/pseuds/lesbianferrissbueller
Summary: Billie looks like a femme fatale when she smokes. Like the ones in old black and white movies that wear tight dresses and have scathing one liners. Red lipstick, tilted-up chin, like how Billie normally is.Right now though, she doesn't have any makeup on. Stevie can see her freckles. And see the faint traces of eyeliner streaked down her cheeks. The curls are still there, though.She still looks like a femme fatale.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: also on tumblr! [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1725826
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52
Collections: fem!harringrove





	she's a femme fatale

**Author's Note:**

> some fem harringrove flangst bc im gay and i had a Day (hey that rhymes! how exciting). and i love the velvet underground hence title and theme
> 
> also everyone is gender swapped so Billie has a shitty mom. cause i said. enjoy

Stevie feels the ache of no sleep on her skin. Her bathroom still smells like rose conditioner from her before-bed shower. But now it’s tinted with the smoke of Billie's cigarette. Makes it burn floral in the back of Stevie’s throat. 

Billie looks like a femme fatale when she smokes. Like the ones in old black and white movies that wear tight dresses and have scathing one liners. Red lipstick, tilted-up chin, like how Billie normally is.Right now though, she doesn't have any makeup on. Stevie can see her freckles. And see the faint traces of eyeliner streaked down her cheeks. The curls are still there, though. 

She still looks like a femme fatale. 

Stevie could say that to her. Maybe that would be a nice thing to hear. Better than useless skank or dumb bitch or whatever else Billie had told Stevie she gets called at home. Whatever words drive her to show up here, in Stevie’s bathroom in the dead of night. Whatever else. 

But maybe yet another person telling Billie what role she played in the world would just make it worse. 

“You’re quiet.” Billie says, her voice more even, even though her cheeks are still blotchy. It’s still rough around the edges though. From the smoking, or crying, or yelling before that. 

Stevie opens her mouth, but shuts it again, shrugs. “I’m no good with words.”

“That isn't true.” Billie laughs a little, takes another drag off her cigarette. She lets go of where she’s been hugging her knees to her chest, lets them slide out straight in front of her. Stevie thinks how tan they look compared to the white tile of the floor. 

“What are you thinking about?” Billie asks, smoke curling up towards the light on the ceiling. 

“What?” Stevie snaps awake a little more. 

“You’re doing your little scrunched-up eyebrows thing.” Billie looked up at her. Her eyes looks so fucking blue when red around the edges. “I know you’re an airhead, but you look like you’re thinking about something.”

And what was Steve supposed to say to that?

I’m thinking about how much I love your eyes, your tan.

I’m thinking how you look like a femme fatale. 

Or like Madonna.

Like an angel, a goddess maybe, like if Venus had a look that could kill. 

How you make me think in song lyrics if I can even think at all. 

I’m thinking how I wish I could tell you all that stuff, if it would make you feel better. 

I want you to feel better.

But what does Stevie say?

“I like your freckles.” She licks her lips before she speaks again. “When you’re not wearing makeup. It's, uh, it’s really pretty.”

Billie’s face changes to a disparaging grin and she laughs. “God, I’m sorry I asked.”

“What? Why?”

Billie just shakes her head. 

“You are pretty, you know.” 

“Shut up.” Billie mumbles, her smile faltering. 

“It’s just a compliment-”

“Stop.” 

Stevie stops. 

Billie’s curled up again. One leg pulled back up. 

“I hate my freckles.” Billie mumbles. 

“...Why?” Stevie asks carefully. 

“My mom hates them.” Billie stares at the wall. “Always said I spent too much time in the sun.”

Stevie breathes more carefully, like maybe Billie will bolt if she moves too quick, breathes too loud. “I really like them. And I mean,” Stevie glances at Billie again. “No offense, but I don’t really respect your mom’s opinions in general.”

Stevie exhales a breath she didn't know she was holding as she watches Billie brighten, just a little.

“None taken.” Billie says. And she looks up, looks at Stevie again. Her cheeks are less red, her eyes still blue. 

Stevie watches as Billie sits up on her knees to stub her cigarette out in the sink. When Billie sits back on the floor she's much closer to Stevie. Close enough that she can lean her head on Stevie’s shoulder, gold curls falling to overlap with Stevie's own dark brown locks on her shoulder. Stevie feels her heart rate skyrocket like it always does, braces for it so she’s expecting how warm Billie’s hand is where it brushes her own on the cold tile floor. Feels her heart in her throat as she says: “Are you sleeping over?”

Billie’s playing with her fingers. “If you let me, yeah.”

“No, actually,” Stevie smiles, turns her head to press slightly against Billie’s hair. “You have to leave. This whole time I was actually just pretending to like you.”

“Secretly you still hate me.” Billie laughs a little.

“Yep.”

“Playing the long con, I see.” 

“Exactly.”

“You know i’d probably believe you if you weren't so shit at lying.” Billie says, the laugh back in her voice.

Stevie’s not actually too bad at lying. Only bad at lying to Billie. Which is why she’s dreading the inevitable question someday of why she lets Billie sleepover so often, and why she doesn't mind sharing a blanket, why she hides one of Billie’s shirts under her bed, why she always answers the phone in the dead of night.

Why her heart goes ballistic when Billie so much as looks at her. 

Or when Billie does what she’s doing now, turning her head to nuzzle against the crook of Stevie’s neck. 

“Thanks.” Billie whispers.

“For what?” Stevie whispers back.

_For letting me sleep over. For always answering the phone. For saying you think I’m pretty._

“Saying you like my freckles.”


End file.
